Scandalous
by TycheSong
Summary: Bored with her life, Hermione decides to proposition Lucius Malfoy to create some excitement. What she hadn't counted on was falling for his son in the process. PWP: HG/LM at first, HG/DM ending.
1. The Cafe

**Disclaimer:** All recognizable characters and fictional places do not belong to me; I am merely borrowing them for playtime before (respectfully) putting them back. Thank you JKR, for allowing such things to happen.

******Thank You: **To the amazing Lauren and Allee, who beta'd this fic, to SusanMarieS and AnneM, who both bannered this fic, and to ThornedHuntress for inspiring it inadvertently...

**Story Summary:** Bored with her life, Hermione decides to proposition Lucius Malfoy to create some excitement. What she hadn't counted on was falling for his son in the process. HG/LM at first, HG/DM ending.

**Warnings:** This story includes lemons (graphic sex), Strong Language, OCC characters, and very little plot.

**Story Dedication: **ThornedHuntress, this story is dedicated to you. :-)

* * *

**SCANDALOUS  
By: TycheSong**

* * *

**Chapter One: The Cafe**

_(In which Hermione comes to a decision, and then follows through)_

At twenty-six, Hermione was bored with herself.

When the war had ended, she had wasted no time riding the wave of reformist clamouring right into the Ministry courts, idealism in her eyes and fire in her heart. What she hadn't counted on was that no matter how _many_ people were talking about changing the world around them, it was the few people with _money_ whose words mattered. Changing the world took politics, and politics took money.

Still, fame and connexions were nothing to be written off. So she had politicked. She wore expensive, conservative clothes, she kept her hair tightly braided back, and she had assiduously rubbed elbows and agendas with the most influential people she could.

What she discovered was that the people with money had very little interest in _actually _changing the world. They were content in their positions of wealth and power, and while they played very nicely indeed with the war heroine, she found herself discreetly and politely on the outside of the conversations that _mattered_, and her endeavours effectively wrapped up in red tape.

As the years passed, her job title and description became more and more important sounding, her credentials more impressive…and the work itself became more and more meaningless. Until one day she woke up and realised that at twenty-six, she was awfully bored with herself.

Her job was boring, her clothes were boring, her tightly plaited hair was boring, and her conversations were boring. Her very sweet and politically correct boyfriend was boring, and their sex was…well. That conversation had gone abysmally. Hermione leaned back in her wrought-iron chair and idly replayed it in her mind.

"Anthony, are you passionate about me?" They were naked and half twisted up in the sheets of his bed, for all intents and purposes sated. They were the perfect image of a happy, sexually active couple. Hermione, however, was plagued by the feeling that neither of them had been really that _involved_ in it. It had been sex for sex's sake, and thoroughly unsatisfying.

"What do you mean?" Anthony Goldstein had frowned at her, his very handsome features set in puzzlement.

"I mean…Like just now. Were you swept away at all by the passion of it?"

"Hermione, I would think it's obvious that I enjoyed myself."

Hermione huffed in irritation. "Just because you orgasmed doesn't mean you were passionate."

He gave her the insulted look of a thoroughly maligned male. "Are you saying _you _didn't enjoy yourself?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Anthony, I'm saying that sometimes it feels like we're doing this just because committed couples are supposed to. Like…like it's a chore. Sure, the itch is there and needs to be scratched, and we take care of that for each other, but…"

"But what?" He was clearly very annoyed now.

"You never just tackle me in the middle of the day, or randomly kiss me in the street just because I'm there. We never experiment with positions anymore and half the time you can't seem to decide if you are more interested in having sex or finishing your research."

"Hermione, you understand better than anyone how encompassing and mentally stimulating research can be; it's why our relationship works so well."

"Or why it doesn't." She grumbled, not quite softly enough.

"So what, the sex is lousy all of the sudden, after five years?"

"No, not lousy." She amended. "It's okay."

"_Okay?"_

The conversation had only gotten worse from there, and had finally culminated in the rather awkward break up that Hermione had felt coming for nearly as long as the relationship had lasted. It was long past time, at any rate, and honestly, she felt nothing but relieved.

Hermione stared moodily into her chilled glass of sauvignon blanc. She had been so daring in her school years, so full of uncompromising opinions and lack of pretense. When had that changed? Gradually, she thought. In little pieces she conformed and gave up. Now...now she just felt smothered by it all.

Confined and wrapped up in her proper little socially acceptable package of diplomacy. She had always been so _good. _Even when she was being a rebel she was still doing research and wearing jumpers and trainers. Even impersonating Bellatrix Lestrange she had still said "good morning."

Well, she was done with that. She was done with being proper, done with being political. She was feeling bored with herself, and damn it, it was about time she remembered that she was a Gryffindor. The best way, she decided, to feed her early quarter-life crisis, was to jump the bones of a man in early midlife crisis.

Which is how, at precisely seven o'clock in a balmy early August evening, Hermione Jean Granger found herself sitting across a wrought iron cafe table from a bored but curious Lucius Malfoy.

He slid into his seat with a practised grace, lifting a finger at the waitress to summon her. He ordered quietly, his low, measured tone rumbling pleasantly. She listened, as she had never really bothered before, to the nuances of it. Watching him through half-slitted eyes, she took in his presence as a man for the first time, rather than as an opponent or even as "Malfoy."

She hadn't really given him or his family much thought since the war. They had faded rather gracefully from the public eye since the Death Eater Trials that they had only just barely weathered. More so after Narcissa had succumbed to a particularly virulent case of shadowed star pneumonia.

When Hermione and Anthony's relationship had come to its painful end, she had carefully considered her next course of action. She wanted to break free from herself, from the image she had turned herself into. In short, she wanted to have an affair. Someone unmarried, worldly enough to know how to please her, and above all, not looking for something permanent. She wanted someone exciting, someone who was—in her head at least—taboo.

She had carefully considered her options, and two days later, had sent an owl to Lucius Malfoy, requesting his presence at this little outdoor London café. She had waited—more nervously than she would have liked to admit—for his expected refusal with something akin to resignation. They had barely exchanged more than a few words in the entire fourteen-odd years of their acquaintance. Certainly her school relationship with his son was hardly something to recommend her to him.

When his lovely eagle owl had returned a politely worded acceptance several hours later, Hermione had been both relieved and suddenly terrified. This was Lucius Malfoy, after all. She was going to ask _Lucius Malfoy _into her bed. She had been rather counting on him declining, she had realised, not without chagrin. Now, however…

Hermione took in his strong features, his long, soft hair and full lower lip. Something low in her abdomen thrummed, and she felt her own lips curl. He was attractive to her. Very attractive, even. He had reached the age where magical folk seemed to enter a physical stasis of sorts for several years. To someone who did not know him, he could be anywhere between forty and a hundred or so. A wizard's prime, when their magic and virility is at its strongest and most precise.

_When they are finally old enough to not be complete idiots._ Hermione thought amusedly, remembering Anthony. She took another sip of her sauvignon blanc, attempting to appear calm and collected.

He waited patiently, regarding her with the perfected urbane arrogance that she had never been able to mimic. They continued to sit in silence when the waitress returned, bearing with her a glass of rich, dark red wine and a small plate of various breads and cheeses. Flicking his fingers at the plate in indication that she should serve herself first, he arched an eyebrow at her, the merest hint of curiosity and amusement in his eyes.

Hermione smiled politely in return, selected a couple of choices off the plate, and waited for him to do the same. Another sip of sauvignon blanc. Finally his patience wore thin.

"Miss Granger, while I do approve of a good wine in the evening, I assume you invited me here for a reason?"

Hermione nodded and carefully sat her glass down on the table. Was she a Gryffindor lioness or wasn't she? Yes. She was. Her words echoed her thoughts. "Yes. I did. I have asked you here because I wanted to discuss the possibility of taking you as a lover."

To his credit, he didn't start choking on his wine, although both of his eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline. "I _beg _your pardon, Miss Granger?" His response was incredulously stiff.

Hermione fought to not flush in embarrassment. "I said that I wish to take you as a lover."

"I…see." He studied her again. "Is there a particular reason why you suddenly felt the need to fill the role of my mistress?"

"I do not wish to be your mistress," Hermione responded, a little more sharply than she had intended. "I do not wish to be 'kept,' or tucked away as an embarrassment. I do not wish to have it expected of me to be ready and willing to drop whatever I am doing whenever you have the urge. Nor do I wish to pretend to be satisfied and pleased regardless of your performance. I wish to have you as a _lover._"

The older man's mouth quirked again. "I assure you, Miss Granger, I have not received any complaints."

"Of course you haven't." Hermione answered, striving to match his blasé tone. "Women who find themselves in the position of your mistress wouldn't, would they? It is their livelihood for the time being to be certain that you are happy with them. Men do not actually want honest assessment about their skill in pleasuring women. They want to be cossetted and told how wonderful they are."

"What makes you think that I would be at all tempted by this…offer?" He asked, seemingly genuinely curious. "You are telling me that you wish to be able to say you are unavailable, and that you will not lie or falsely stroke my ego in regards to my abilities as a lover, and surely you know that my son—the only family I have left—would not be pleased."

Hermione took another fortifying sip of her wine. "I think you are tempted." She stated boldly. "I think you are tempted because you are as bored as I am, and the offer of a witch half your age who is _not _after your money is intriguing to you. Your family has never fully recovered from the stigma of the war, and I represent everything the winning side stood for. Your mistresses would not dare to offer you a more stimulating conversation by disagreeing with you; you know I have no such compunctions."

Hermione reached out and placed her fingers lightly on the back of his hand. "You have been living a secluded existence without even your wife to keep you company. While I realise I am not the loveliest witch to ever cross your path in this way, I do think I can offer something to you that no other really could right now."

Steel-blue eyes met hers, and she could feel that he was reluctantly intrigued. "And what, pray tell, is that, Miss Granger?"

"Excitement. That long-lost thrill from being whispered about, from doing something outrageous and getting away with it for no other reason than because of who we are. No one could doubt your place returning to society as my companion. I have worked very hard to be perfectly presentable these last several years."

"That would change, you realise." He sipped his own wine, watching her from over the rim of the glass. "You would get called some very uncomplimentary names, if you decide to move forward with this. Your credibility towards all of your…projects would be ruined."

Hermione snorted softly. "You are an intelligent enough man, Mr. Malfoy, to know by now that no one is listening to me, anyway. I am tired of being safe, of being politically correct, of boring myself into an early grave with dull parties and duller sex."

"And you think, after all, that I would provide the exciting sex you seek?"

Hermione smiled wickedly. "If nothing else, Mr. Malfoy, you will provide the excitement of fucking my childhood image of the epitome of pureblood snobbishness."

He actually laughed at the audacity of that comment, the low chuckle taking even him by surprise as it escaped. The wry twist of his lips softened his face measurably, she noticed. He really was very attractive. Hermione felt the anticipation in her abdomen start tightening again.

He noticed. His eyes suddenly sharpened, and for the first time since he had sat down, she saw him actually _look_ at her. She halted, literally holding her breath as he leisurely perused her face, her throat, and then lingered on her breasts. When his gaze met hers again, her breath huffed out in reaction.

His steel-blue eyes were now lit with the almost electric charge that leapt up between them. His lips curved again, and she felt herself grow moist. For a long moment, the two of them stared at each other, their wine and appetiser forgotten. He was aroused. She could tell; she had seen that look before.

"Come on, Lucius," She said softly, drawing his given name out in a low purr. It was a sound she had never really heard herself make before, and it thrilled her. Hermione let out a low, delighted laugh at the sound of her own sultriness, and watched his eyes sharpen even more. "What do you have to lose? Let's create a scandal, shall we?"

* * *

_A/N: Thanks for reading! I would love to know what you think! _

_As with all my current work, this story was posted first on my primary home site, The Maple Bookshelf. Likewise, any following chapters or any current chapters to my other fics will post at least a day ahead there first. It's a great site that *does* allow MA stories, of any fandom, of any genre. They also allow original work, artwork and banners. Right now I am also running a one-shot challenge there (there is still two weeks left to sign up and turn in a one shot!) _

_I strongly urge all my readers to go check it out and sign up!  
_


	2. The Bookstore

**Disclaimer:** All recognizable characters and fictional places do not belong to me; I am merely borrowing them for playtime before (respectfully) putting them back. Thank you JKR, for allowing such things to happen.

******Thank You: **To the amazing Lauren and Allee, who beta'd this fic, to SusanMarieS and AnneM, who both bannered this fic, and to ThornedHuntress for inspiring it inadvertently...

**Story Summary:** Bored with her life, Hermione decides to proposition Lucius Malfoy to create some excitement. What she hadn't counted on was falling for his son in the process. HG/LM at first, HG/DM ending.

**Warnings:** This story includes lemons (graphic sex), Strong Language, OCC characters, and very little plot.

**Story Dedication: **ThornedHuntress, this story is dedicated to you. :-)

* * *

**SCANDALOUS  
By: TycheSong**

* * *

**Chapter Two: The Bookstore**

_(In which a favorite place is made better)_

Lucius held her gaze a moment longer, searing in its heat. He casually lifted his wine again, his long fingers wrapping around the glass. The sudden image of him curving those same long fingers over her breasts, around her buttocks, made Hermione clench her thighs together briefly. She wanted him. She really, _really_ wanted Lucius Malfoy.

He smiled slightly in response to what he saw in her eyes. "Tell me about you, Miss Granger." Those fingers reached out and lifted her hand. He turned it so that it was palm upward, and traced his thumb lightly across the centre of it. "You have an unusually strong head line; that's no surprise. A rather surprising number of cross breaks on your fate line, however." His finger stroked her palm sensually again.

"I…I don't believe in divination." Hermione stuttered, her voice breaking on a nervous laugh. "It's utter rot." She glanced at him askance, waiting for him to sensibly agree with her, but he didn't laugh with her.

Instead, Lucius smiled knowingly, and continued to stroke her palm with his thumb. "Nor do I, otherwise it would be difficult to explain some of the choices I have made for myself and my family these last thirty or so years. Chiromancy is not strictly divination, Miss Granger. It can reveal things about a person that you…would not expect."

He released her hand and sat back in his chair, regarding her with an amused expression. "Tell me, Miss Granger. Where is your favourite place in Diagon Alley?"

"Flourish and Blotts." She answered automatically, and then felt her cheeks pink a little. It was hardly an exciting answer, or an enticing one. She supposed she should have said The Wicked Witch, the lingerie shop above Madam Malkins, or at least The Elysian Terrace. Didn't wealthy pure-blood men like Lucius Malfoy like snobby restaurants like that?

Instead of looking at her like she was unimaginative or pathetic, the man smiled again. Almost evilly, she thought. "Why, Miss Granger. I am so glad you said so." Casually he pulled out a coin bag from his charcoal grey overcoat and extracted a small handful of Galleons. They landed carelessly on the table like cast rune tiles on a _livet kort_; she rather suspected that he regarded them similarly.

Standing, he carefully re-buttoned his coat, picked up his serpent-headed cane, and extended his other hand to her. "Come, Miss Granger. Show me."

She was caught by his eyes for a moment again, that wicked light turning them from their usual quicksilver to molten ice. She stood, grasping his hand, and knew that he could see the hard points of her nipples through her blouse and the underlying camisole. It both embarrassed and excited her that he could see her reaction to him.

To her surprise, he didn't let go of her hand once she was on her feet, but instead tucked it into the crook of his opposite elbow. The last time she had been in this position was when Victor Krum had escorted her to the Yule Ball nearly ten years earlier. It was a very old-world gesture; one Anthony would have thought ridiculous. The casual elegance of it thrilled her. While she did pride herself on her independence, there was something about his scrupulous manners that made her feel both classy and significant.

Lucius transferred his walking stick to his free side, he set them off down the sidewalk of Diagon Alley at a leisurely pace, not bothering to dignify the stares they were receiving with so much as a glance. No doubt they made a very incongruous looking couple, Hermione mused. He in his finely tailored and over-layered suit and overcoat, she in her demure but attractive pencil skirt and blouse; it was like spring on the arm of late autumn.

She momentarily wanted to yank her arm away and run, but drew in a deep breath instead. She had wanted excitement, a scandal. This man could certainly give it to her. Merlin knew he could make her _ache_. She just had to remember who she was and _take_ it.

They entered Flourish and Blotts with what felt like an overwhelming lack of fanfare. She had just strolled down Diagon Alley on the arm of Lucius Malfoy, and the world had oddly not ended. Stared, to be sure—it had even gaped—but it hadn't ended. How very curious. She could feel the heat of him seeping through his several layers of clothing; feel the fine, slightly nubby wool of his coat against her suddenly over-sensitive skin. The faint smell of his cologne seemed to settle deep between her legs the same way a passionate kiss might, and Hermione found it rather difficult to not lean into him and rub against him like a cat.

He turned his head minutely and peered down at her, the wicked look igniting in his eyes again. "Do you have a favourite corner in here?"

Hermione shook her head, momentarily unable to speak over her dry throat. "I browse indiscriminately for the most part. I'm afraid I do not seem to have the time to just sit about and wile away hours in bookshops anymore. When I was younger, I was always here with someone else who would rather not stay overly long. I have old favourite corners in the Hogwarts library and at Salina's Books in Hogsmeade, though."

"Mmmm." The low rumble of his voice was marvellous, she decided. If she closed her eyes, she imagined she could actually submerge herself into it. "Shall I show you _my _favourite place in this bookstore, Hermione?"

It was the first time he had used her given name, and it sounded like the wine he had been drinking earlier—rich, dark and smooth. Like sin itself. She had never imagined before in her life that her rather awkward name could be made to sound so…so…delicious.

"You have a favourite spot? Here?" She breathed back, barely remembering in time that they were having a conversation of sorts.

Those wicked lips curved into another faint smile. "Currently," he replied, then directed her, "follow me." He nudged her in the direction of the stairs, undoing his coat again as he went, clearly an unconscious action he had going from outdoors to in. It was another subtle reminder that he seemed to be born with the habits and manners of another time, an older world. She found the small gesture devastatingly attractive.

The upper floor of Flourish and Blotts was not so much a true floor as it was an overly wide balcony rimming the room, overlooking the centre. Hermione arched her brows as they ascended, wondering. All of the comfortable chairs were on the first floor, as were the majority of the more popular books. The balcony floor only housed the tax law, business law and financing sections. Didn't it just figure that his favourite spot in a bookstore would be next to those? She gave him a dry look, and he chuckled darkly.

"Not here, Miss Hermione Granger, stop assuming. _Here._" He led her halfway around the solid, waist-high balcony, so that they stood directly between the front door of the shop and the sales desk below them.

"You like the _view_. Being up higher than everyone else." She stated, looking out over the room below them. She rested her palms lightly on the wide railing, and was glad for the solid floor beneath her feet.

He caged her, putting his palms on either side of hers and forcing her to bend slightly over the wide railing. His breath whispered along the skin of her neck, ruffling the tendrils of hair at her nape that had escaped from her braid.

"Yes. I like having a broader perspective. Tell me, Hermione, what do you see?" His lips just barely brushed her ear, tickling the nerve endings there. Hermione shuddered a little, leaning back into the warmth of him.

"I see…books." Hermione was having a difficult time thinking. His hand…that wicked, long-fingered hand, was running lightly up and down the outside of her left hip, smoothing over her skirt and not-quite grazing her bum. Every so often it would deviate from its path; the same thumb that had stroked across her palm at the cafe would dance ever-so-lightly over the edge of her leg, teasing her inner thigh.

"Books?" His voice vibrated through her, his amusement plain. "Very good, Hermione. I was always told you were a smart one." His hand smoothed back up, curving round to flatten against her stomach—right where her blouse was tucked into the slim skirt.

"I _like_ this skirt on you." His head moved to the other side of her, and murmured in the ear he had been neglecting. "It's so prim and perfectly proper. You should wear it with garters just low enough to peek through the cuts on the side. You would drive every man in a half-block radius mad."

His right hand now took over the job his left had abandoned, and smoothed down the line of her opposite flank. When he reached the top edge of the short slit that ran up the side of her skirt, his finger dipped under, stroking her bare skin.

Hermione felt her breath gust out in a shaky sigh.

"My, my. No stockings. How naughty of you."

"They…they aren't required any longer. A lot of women have bare legs these days."

"Yes, and you're so very modern and Muggle, are you not?" Lucius answered, the faint edge of gentle mockery in his voice. He was still running a finger across her bare thigh, and it seemed to shoot little arrows of sensation straight to the tips of her breasts. "Tell me, then, Hermione Granger, since you cannot seem to tell me of what you see below you. _Why_ do you like this place so much?"

His right hand was moving, calmly and deliberately pulling her blouse from her skirt, drawing his fingers maddeningly slowly across her stomach as he did so.

"I-I like the books. The way they smell, the weight of them, the words in them."

"And you like how you fit in, here." His fingers ghosted down her ribs, and he pressed a hot, wet kiss where her shoulder met the side of her throat, biting down gently.

"Yesss." It came out as a soft hiss.

His ran his tongue lightly across the top of her shoulder, and those achingly slow fingers traced the line of small buttons up the front of her blouse, never actually caressing her. "You walk in and you have unconditional acceptance as a lover of the written word. It's not an embarrassment that you are intelligent when you are in here."

"_Yes." _Both of his hands were at her blouse now, methodically unbuttoning it from the bottom up, his forearms grazing her breasts as he did so. Once the lace trimmed camisole she wore underneath was revealed in full, he ran a finger down the edge of the neckline, skimming the top of one breast.

"You like this place because it accepts you. Because it adores you as much as you adore it. The books don't care what you have or have not accomplished." His hands were making little circles across her stomach, firm pressure points of warmth that she felt to her core. His groin briefly brushed her rear, and she could feel his erection through their clothes. He paused for a moment, and his hips gave the slightest of bucks forward, rubbing the steely length against her bottom again.

"You have the most _lusciously _round arse, did you know?" Oh gods, his voice, his hands. He was making her come undone and he had hardly even touched her. Her eyes slid closed for a moment, surrendering to the sensual slide of his low rumbling purr and lightly stroking hands.

They had abandoned her undone blouse to cup said arse through her skirt. He squeezed the curves of it, deftly exploring them. One hand cupped under her from behind, nearly reaching her core through her skirt. Breathless, she spread her legs apart a little wider, trying to grant him better access. He laughed, pleased, and gave her rear another firm stroke.

He was back to nibbling on the side of her throat, and his hands were suddenly smoothing up her hips rather than down, bunching the fabric as he went. Her hemline teetered dangerously close to the edge of her hips, and she tensed slightly.

"What…what are you doing?"

"Relax, Hermione." He drew her name out slowly and played with the bare skin he had exposed where her skirt had lain. "The balcony is solid, no one can see, even if they bothered to look." The feeling of his hands on her bare thighs made her quiver.

"It's _public!"_ She hissed softly.

"Oh, Hermione." He chuckled again, softly, and murmured, "Your sweet little round arse is a little too luscious to do it this way." His fingers plucked at her skirt for a moment, and suddenly, Hermione felt it loosen as he undid her zipper.

"_Lucius!"_ His name ended on a soft moan as the pads of his fingertips traced the front edge of her knickers.

"I'm going to need you to do something for me Hermione." His fingers dipped into her knickers and stroked her lightly even as he palmed her bared arse with his other hand. "I'm going to need you to be very, _very _quiet. Can you do that for me?"

The hand on her rear slid under the band of her thong, and lifted it slightly. "I am going to give you something priceless, Hermione Granger. Something all the money in the world couldn't buy, including mine." He paused, and stroked her lightly under her knickers again. His fingers slid through her wet folds easily, and she bucked slightly, biting back a moan as they clipped the edge of her clitoris.

His head dipped again, and he drawled in her ear. "I am going to move aside this little scrap of lace you wore to make yourself feel sexy enough to approach me, and I am going to give you a memory. I'm going to take your favourite place in Diagon Alley and I'm going to make it even better for you. Isn't that what lovers are supposed to do?"

He curled an arm around her waist and drew her back another foot from the railing, causing her crumpled skirt fall around her calves. Hermione shivered, and nearly protested, but his hands…oh his hands felt so good. She tried to spread her legs a little wider, and found that she couldn't, held in place as she was by her own skirt.

She whimpered softly in needy distress.

"You _are _a naughty girl, aren't you…standing up here on the balcony of a public store, your skirt around your ankles and my hand in your cunt?" He pressed a firm palm on her back, bending her forward. "Lean against the railing; there's a good girl." He stretched her lacy knickers out of the way, and plunged a finger into her, then two. She was so aroused that she easily accommodated him. "Now fold your arms, like you're just observing. Don't want anyone to take an interest and come up here, do we?"

She hastily complied and he laughed again. "Oh, Hermione. For the rest of your life, you are going to remember this. Every time you walk into this store, every time you are near a balcony, every time you so much as smell a musty book, you are going to remember the feeling of my cock inside you. You will remember how you desperately fought to keep quiet, and you are going to remember that the only reason you succeeded was because I _let_ you."

His fingers pumped into her again, and she tried to push back against them, to impale herself deeper. His palm on her back tightened, refusing to let her. "No." He informed her firmly. "I understand that you are used to getting to run things, to be organised and in control, but you don't get that this time. If you want to come, Hermione, you will do exactly as I say. Now, stay still."

The hand on her back left her briefly, and she could hear the clink of metal on metal and the hiss of leather as he undid his belt and trousers. Breathlessly, she asked, "You're really...really going to do it? You're actually going to fuck me? Here?"

He growled deep in his throat. "Say that again."

Hermione twisted her head and lifted up a bit, only to have his palm come back firmly down on her back, pushing her forward again. The fingers of his other hand removed themselves from inside her and stroked at her clitoris again, rolling the swollen bead in her own slippery juices.

"Tell me, Hermione Granger, that you desire me to fuck you."

"F-f-fuck me."

"_Lucius Malfoy. _Say it! "I want you to fuck me,_ Lucius Malfoy.'"_

Hermione keened low as he plucked at her again, and breathed out, _"I want you to fuck me, Lucius Malfoy!"_

"Very well, then pet." His voice was smugly pleased. "I will."


	3. The Balcony

**Disclaimer:** All recognizable characters and fictional places do not belong to me; I am merely borrowing them for playtime before (respectfully) putting them back. Thank you JKR, for allowing such things to happen.

******Thank You: **To the amazing Lauren and Allee, who beta'd this fic, to SusanMarieS and AnneM, who both bannered this fic, and to ThornedHuntress for inspiring it inadvertently...

**Story Summary:** Bored with her life, Hermione decides to proposition Lucius Malfoy to create some excitement. What she hadn't counted on was falling for his son in the process. HG/LM at first, HG/DM ending.

**Warnings:** This story includes lemons (graphic sex), Strong Language, OCC characters, and very little plot.

**Story Dedication: **ThornedHuntress, this story is dedicated to you. :-)

* * *

**SCANDALOUS  
By: TycheSong**

* * *

**Chapter Three: The Balcony**

_(In which a purpose is found for some books on tax law)_

The tip of him was velvety and smooth. The softest skin she had ever encountered wrapping the furthest thing from soft she could imagine. It caressed her gently, dragging across her skin and nestling briefly in the cleft between her buttocks. He grunted almost inaudibly, and thrust a little in the crease, enjoying the feel of her.

A small drop of moisture smeared across one cheek as he pulled away, and almost shakily tried to enter her. Even bent over as she was, her calves trapped in her skirt and unable to do anything but react, Hermione felt empowered. Lucius Malfoy _wanted_ her. He wanted her badly enough that he was not only about to have sex with her, but was actually trembling minutely in his haste to get inside her. The thought was slightly intoxicating.

The thick head of his cock nudged at her entrance, and paused. He shifted again slightly, and pushed, only to have Hermione shift a little, too. She couldn't seem to arch her back and hips high enough for him, and she desperately wanted him _in_. She felt more than saw him bend his knees, and nearly groaned as his cock rubbed enticingly against her clitoris but still didn't enter her.

He let out a frustrated huff of laughter. "You're too short for me this way, pet. Wait right here. I'll be right back." His heat left her then, and Hermione squirmed. She was more than ready; she actually felt herself dripping a little down the inside of one thigh. She squirmed again, uncomfortable, and winced as her cold and slightly sticky knickers slid back into place against her.

He was back a moment later, kneeling down by her leg and his breath sighing just under knee. His breath was warm, and it sent tingles up her leg and straight to her groin again. The arousal within was in direct juxtaposition of the cool shop air against her thighs and exposed sex. Hermione let out the barest of sighs.

"Lift your foot a bit, pet."

She did so, and felt him lifting her skirt with it, helping her as she wobbled and had to brace herself more firmly against the railing. He gently guided her right foot back down…several inches higher than her left. A book. No…two. He actually had her standing on _books_. He moved to the other side, and helped brace her again as she lifted herself up and was replaced at an even height again.

"Those better not be important." She breathed, and whimpered slightly as he bit the back of her knee in punishment.

"Tax law." He murmured back. His mouth was licking up the inside of her spread thighs, delicately, almost like butterfly wings. Hermione bit back a throaty moan and tried to step wider, nearly tripping over her skirt and off the books in the process.

Lucius paused, and tsked under his breath. "Hermione, I told you to stay still. Honestly, pet, this will be much easier if you do." He carefully lifted her knickers away again, and she nearly groaned again in relief. He didn't just move them out of the way this time, but actually slid them down her thighs to join her skirt, stretched to their utmost around her calves.

"What a pretty, pretty cunt you have, Hermione; it's all ripe, wet, pink and waiting for me. I do apologise for neglecting it these last few minutes." His voice was just barely audible against her, his breath tickling her overly sensitised nerve endings.

Hermione felt herself clench a little, and a fresh line of moisture leaked from her. He chuckled lowly, and suddenly his tongue flicked out again, and caught it. He licked up her slit and Hermione fought to keep her knees from buckling. One hand came up and began to lazily thumb at her clitoris, his other steadying against her bare hip, while he meticulously, methodically drove her insane with his tongue.

She came hard, biting her lip to keep from screaming, her nails digging little crescents into the finish of the wide railing. She would have stepped down then—her knees felt decidedly unstable—but he stayed her with a hand. He rose to his feet swiftly and deftly thumbed his still-open trousers down again behind her.

"Now, pet. You didn't think I had retrieved the books to ease my _neck_, did you?" He positioned himself carefully, and with a determined, twisting thrust, finally wedged the head of his cock inside of her. Hermione gasped, and tried to ease the sudden penetration with a small rocking motion. Lucius hissed between his teeth and grasped her hips in his hands, holding her still.

"Fuck. Still, not quite…" He muttered, and hauled her up onto her tiptoes, tilting her even higher. Her modestly high heels dangled uselessly in the air, and one of the books on her left side slid a little as she scrabbled for purchase. He nudged it back into place with a kick and another faint oath then ordered, "Brace yourself, pet."

He pushed himself into her adamantly, relentlessly. He was far thicker then she was used to. About the same length as Anthony, she judged, but _much _wider. He stretched her to the point of discomfort, not pausing to let her grow accustomed until he was seated fully inside her. His balls brushed her delicate folds even as the head of him pushed up against the inside of her, setting off little jolts of sensation.

Hermione shuddered around him, feeling herself flex involuntarily as she took him, desperately trying to relax around him. It wasn't easy with her legs held only a short distance apart, and she let out a low whimper.

"Shhhhhhh. Remember?" He admonished. "No noise. You must be _very_ quiet." His voice was sinfully wicked; it seemed to caress her nerves as much as his cock was as he slowly—almost unbearably slowly—pulled out. She felt the loss keenly; her sense of emptiness was awful after feeling almost intolerably full only moments previously. Lucius had almost entirely extracted himself from her when he suddenly thrust forward, slamming home again with a soft moan of approval. He took her with long, firm strokes, setting an even and demanding pace.

Hermione felt a low wail rise in her throat and tried to squelch it, actually holding her breath in the effort. A particularly powerful snap of his hips jarred it out of her a few moments later and she gasped in air again quickly. She let out a breathy, frustrated groan when she felt the books under her toes start to slide again from the force of their motions, causing his angle to change slightly.

He was now hitting her just a touch higher, and it was unravelling her quickly. It was heaven, like fucking lightening itself, raw and hot and electrifying. His breath was coming in short pants, and a quick glance over her shoulder showed her that his eyes were tightly shut and his teeth clenched as he pummelled into her in a steady, hard rhythm.

She felt deliciously, exquisitely stretched; sparks were igniting along the inside of her skin and she could practically feel her magical energy responding to his. Her thighs were burning a bit from the combined effort of remaining bent over on her tiptoes and the quiet slap of his thighs against hers, but the thick glide of him felt so sublime that any thought of protest was ridiculous.

Hermione felt stimulated to an almost critical need; her whole body was slowly incinerating from the inside out, and any moment she just _knew _they were going to get caught. She felt herself contract around him in automatic reaction to the thought, and couldn't help but groan softly as his responding thrust was just a touch harder than his previous.

"Lucius…" She breathed out, and his eyes flew open and locked on hers. His expression was raw; the dark lust in his eyes shot a bolt of fire through her blood and made her spasm briefly around him. Whatever he saw in her eyes made his narrow and glint with satisfaction, and he grit, "I will not be able to hold back much longer, pet. Come for me."

Oh, Founders, she wanted to. She was almost there. She could feel her orgasm building to an almost desperate pitch; she just need a little bit more…! "More." She gasped out. "More, I need more. Harder." She begged.

His fingers dug almost painfully into her as he did as she asked, and she came with a scream that she only barely choked off in her throat before it became audible. Her knees _did _buckle, then, and he only barely caught her from cracking her skull into the railing as she stumbled off the books.

He growled at her in frustration and lifted her onto all fours impatiently, swatting her rear sharply. His knees bracketed hers, and he was on her again, in her, ramming her with sharp, erratic snaps. She would feel this afterward, she knew. He was so much larger than what she was used to, and already her abdomen felt like it was taking a beating from the inside. It was the most delicious ache she had ever felt in her life.

He seemed entirely unaware of his surroundings now, or of anything but the blissfully hot friction between them. His methodical rhythm had been completely abandoned in favour of simply trying to fuck her as hard and as fast as he could, slamming into her with a force that nearly gave her knees rug burns. A hand fisted around her braid and drew her head back firmly, holding her in place and helpless at the same time. Hermione felt the tension in her stirring again, wrenched to life by his unexpected roughness.

The way he held her, powerless to do anything but accept his rough possession of her was titillating in the extreme. It was wonderful, and it was astonishing; she had never imagined that she would enjoy this sort of almost brutal carnality, but Lucius was driving her harder and faster into multiple orgasms than she had thought possible. She doubted she would be able to reach the edge a third time before he did, however, and instead closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of the very proper Lucius Malfoy losing control.

He came with a husky groan, his right hand holding her braid so tightly she was forced to look at the ceiling, his left gripping her hip like a vice. His hot semen flooded her in heavy pulses; his orgasm lasted far longer than she expected. Lucius shuddered slightly, and let go of her hair to carefully cage her rear with his hands. He stroked her gently; almost sweetly as the last surges of his orgasm shuddered through him.

They collapsed together haphazardly on the floor, both of their clothes still about their ankles. It was especially incongruous looking on him, with his shirt and waistcoat still perfectly, pristinely buttoned.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at him, and started to giggle at the image. His hair was in disarray, and he'd lost his walking stick at some point. Lucius lifted an imperious brow and then, wryly smiled as well, willing to be amused at the ridiculous picture they made.

"You dare laugh at your lover following your first sexual escapade?" He teased in a mock-dangerous tone.

Hermione snorted again, and started tugging her skirt back in place, wincing slightly at the wrinkles. She pulled her knickers off entirely, intending to stuff them into her handbag—they would be uncomfortably cold from her earlier arousal—only to be stopped short by Lucius peremptory outstretched palm.

"Your unmentionables, Miss Granger." He requested, in a tone that brooked no argument.

"You want my _knickers_?"

"You weren't going to wear them anyway. Besides, they're mine." He offered her a handkerchief he had procured from somewhere, which she gratefully accepted.

"Yours?"

"Mmmm." He responded, and managed to pull out _another _handkerchief to meticulously clean himself. "Mine. By right of conquest."

Hermione laughed, unable to help herself, and handed her knickers over. "Just how did you know we wouldn't be discovered up here?"

Lucius shrugged, a wicked look in his eyes. "Maybe I didn't." He laughed softly. "People never look up. Besides, I had both a subtle Repelling Charm and a Silencing Charm in place."

Hermione felt her jaw drop slightly. "You mean…the whole time…no one would have heard me anyway?"

"Of course not; it's more fun though if you don't know that. I very much enjoyed watching you try to remain quiet. The truth is, however, I am a generally a cautious man." He pulled his shorts and trousers up over his still-softening erection with a discernible wince, and started fastening his belt. "Are you, Hermione?"

"What?" She had been distracted by watching him, and now she glanced up just in time to catch the amused look on his face. It quickly turned serious however, as he repeated the question.

"Are you careful?" He sank back down to the ground next to her, his back to a bookshelf and regarded her seriously.

What he was _really _asking sank in a moment later, and she nodded lazily, sagging against the same bookshelf. "Yes. I've been on the potion for years. There is no chance of any...accidents."

He nodded, looking slightly relieved. "That's good. That's…very good." He said frankly. "Just so we are clear, I have no intention of ever marrying you, or of paying for any mistakes that you make during this…_affaire,_ Hermione."

Hermione snorted softly, and lifted one eyelid to peer at him, too exhausted to do more. "No offense, Lucius, but I'd sooner die a spinster than a Malfoy. We're _very_ clear." Her lashes dropped shut again. "Not that I didn't enjoy myself; that was _delicious_."

"I'm going to have to buy you some of those ridiculously high heels. Far more practical for this sort of fucking then those awful mum-shoes you have."

"Buy away if you must, but next time, darling, I'm pulling _your_ hair."

His only response was a surprised and genuinely pleased sounding chuckle, then a moment later, "Where the _devil _is my walking stick?"

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_A/N: This story was begun as a personal challenge to myself: I have a hard time writing the Malfoys for some reason, and a hard time writing lemons... I think I'm getting over both of those fairly well, don't you?_


	4. The Kitchen

**Disclaimer:** All recognizable characters and fictional places do not belong to me; I am merely borrowing them for playtime before (respectfully) putting them back. Thank you JKR, for allowing such things to happen.

******Thank You: **To the amazing ThornedHuntress and Nathaniel Cardeu, who alpha/beta'd this fic (from here on out), and to SusanMarieS and AnneM, who both bannered this fic, and to ThornedHuntress for inspiring it inadvertently...

**Story Summary:** Bored with her life, Hermione decides to proposition Lucius Malfoy to create some excitement. What she hadn't counted on was falling for his son in the process. HG/LM at first, HG/DM ending.

**Warnings:** This story includes lemons (graphic sex), Strong Language, OCC characters, and very little plot.

**Story Dedication: **ThornedHuntress, this story is dedicated to you. :-)

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**SCANDALOUS  
By: TycheSong**

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**Chapter Four: The Kitchen**

_(In which misunderstandings occur)_

Hermione padded barefoot into the Manor's kitchen, feeling rather decadently shagged out and slightly bemused. Who would have ever thought that she would be wandering Malfoy Manor in nothing but its master's shirt, at three in the morning? She had certainly never anticipated it. She had rather not expected to end up at the Manor at all, to be honest.

Lucius, however, had informed her rather dryly that he was "too old" to always be scrabbling about on the floor, and that he would rather like to have her in a proper bed. Seeing as how they had ended up on the floor again just that morning, she had to concede that it was a fair point. She had ridden him rather hard in the drawing room—the same room she had been tortured in nearly eight years earlier.

He had been slightly shamed-faced when she had led him there; he clearly was discomfited by the thought of what memories the room would dredge up for her. She had quite firmly made it clear that she planned to eradicate all said memories and, once he realised what she had in mind, he had been far less apprehensive. Of course, Hermione thought smugly, she rather thought he had been having trouble thinking at all at that point.

When she had made to go home following the experience, he invited her to dinner that evening instead. Dinner had been accompanied by more teasing glances and wandering fingers and, when she had tried to coax him onto the supper table, he had apprised her of his intention to use a bed. She had discovered quickly that his bed was _very _comfortable indeed.

Her grin widened as she remembered that particular encounter, two days ago. Neither of them had really left the bedroom since then, taking even their meals in the master suite in between bouts of prolonged sex and sleep. When she had woken up feeling rather horribly dehydrated about half an hour ago, she had left him still softly snoring, his lips tipped in a smugly sated smile. Aching a little from his attentions, she had dressed herself haphazardly in the dress shirt that had been discarded carelessly on the floor, and had left to wander in search of the kitchens.

Half an hour later, she was finally about to get herself a glass of milk. There might even be some of that delicious bread left over that they had had for supper as well. Humming a bit, Hermione looked about for where she though the pantry might be and, having chosen a door at random, headed for it.

"Are you really planning on visiting the vegetable garden in nothing but my father's shirt, Granger?" The low, derisive voice halted her abruptly, and she spun with a surprised gasp. Somehow she had missed Draco Malfoy in the darkened corner of the room, leaning idly against one of the counters.

Hermione flushed, and stammered, "I-I was hoping it might be the pantry. I was looking for the milk."

His face expressionless, Draco wordlessly pointed at the door next to the one she had been about to use.

"Thanks," she responded. Feeling dreadfully conspicuous and vulnerable without her knickers, Hermione self-consciously made her way to the indicated door. Shaking slightly in the chilled room, and feeling goose bumps pricking at her bare arms and legs, Hermione grasped the milk and exited quickly, hoping futilely that perhaps her childhood nemesis would have taken his leave.

He was studying her instead, the expression on his face still stone hard and unyielding. He had inherited his father's eyes, she noted, and the breadth of his shoulders. The planes and angles of his features were starker, however; younger, the moonlight through the windows of the kitchen throwing them into sharp relief.

"I hadn't thought it would be you," he said, breaking the awkward silence first, his eyes not leaving her. "I always knew that at some point he'd get back on the horse and take a lover, but I _never _thought you. He'll not marry you, you know."

Hermione squared her shoulders, trying not to feel at a disadvantage in her state of undress. "Not that it's really your business, Malfoy," she started coldly, "but I'm not looking for marriage any more than he is. We are simply…enjoying each other right now."

Draco snorted softly, picking up a glass of water she hadn't seen earlier, still watching her over the rim of it as he drank. Hermione's ire rose.

"What? You think I'm not good enough to take your precious pure-blood father as a lover?" Hermione demanded.

Draco's facial expression did not change an iota as he set his glass back down. "On the contrary, Granger, you had just about convinced me that you were worth more than this." His tone became musing. "I guess it's for the best, really. You probably don't want to be on a pedestal as the Muggle-born proving pure-blood supremacy wrong, any more than I wanted to be on one allegedly proving them right."

Casually he straightened and made for the far door that Hermione had entered through. Stung, she called after him, "So I'm worth less then, because I enjoy sex without marriage? You're splashed all over the front page of the tabloids with a different witch each week, you hypocrite."

He froze in the doorway, then turned and gave her an icy look. "No, Granger. You're worth less for _selling out your beliefs_. Don't presume that you know me because we went to school together once upon a time, and _don't_ call me a hypocrite. I've never once pretended to be anything other than what I am, even when we were children." His tone was as hard as his eyes, his anger clearly getting the better of him as well. "Oh, and by the way, even though I didn't do it for you, _you're bloody fucking welcome!_"

With that he turned on his heel and stomped out of the kitchen. _You're welcome? _Hermione stared after him, her milk forgotten and her eyes wide. What had he meant by _that?_ Not to mention the rest of it. Her thoughts whirled. His words had been sneering, but still backhand _compliments_, nonetheless.

He had thought she was worth more than this…more than what? Taking a casual lover? She knew she had come across as a bit prissy—her conservative look was one she had carefully cultivated. She had also known that sleeping with Lucius Malfoy was going to destroy that image fairly thoroughly, but it wasn't _actually _selling out her beliefs.

Hermione shook her head. He was undoubtedly feeling uncomfortable by the situation because it was his father. He was lashing out the way he had when they were children, trying to make her upset, just because he was.

She wouldn't let him get to her. For the first time in years, she _finally_ felt like she was letting go a bit, being free. She would_ not_ let Draco Malfoy ruin that for her. Draining her glass of milk, Hermione left the kitchen, wondering vaguely which way she should go to get back to the warm bed waiting for her.

Draco was going to be sleeping in his own bed tonight, something he hadn't done in the last four, and the knowledge very nearly made him giddy. He had been sleeping on the rather cramped sofa in his office at the firm, subsisting off of take-away, Pepper-Up and terrible espresso in order to stay relatively alert for nearly a week now. He had come home to sleep the first couple of nights, but he had been staying up so late and getting up so early it hadn't really been worth it.

It was done, though. Eight months of running himself into the ground over this law proposal had finally paid off. Officially, it was still under consideration. Unofficially, it was as good as passed. As of the next January, no magical persons could be hired, fired or disregarded for anemployment opportunity based upon their blood status.

It had been _hell_ getting the support he needed for that one. He had used every single damned trick in his verbal repertoire, had spent literally hundreds of hours working off the clock, and thousands of galleons hosting parties and generously donating to various efforts and causes of those whose support he needed. It had helped that Blaise was working with him for once, instead of opposing him, and that Pucey and Devoux had come aboard.

_We are the political and social movers and shakers of the future, and we remember our friends._ It had become something of a mantra for the last year. Kingsley was a fair enough Minister, surprisingly, but it was difficult for any Minister to be effective if he couldn't win over the Wizengamot and Council of Seven. The more pure-bloods he had been able to convince to sign their support over, the better a chance he had of convincing the upper echelons of the Ministry that this law should be passed.

Despite being fairly low profile the last several years, Draco fully intended to have a prominent seat on the Wizengamot someday, possibly even Chief Warlock. As a Pure-Blooded Progressive, he even had a fair shot at it, provided he could convince the Party to back him. Campaigning for a position like Chief Warlock started _decades_ in advance, something that had to be carefully guided and strategized. Part one of Draco's strategy was getting this law passed; doing so would rocket him to the top of the Progressive Party's list of candidates and rally support behind him.

The last pure-blood Draco had visited to sign on was Goldstein—he had put it off as long as possible. The ponce was horribly stuffy and full of himself but Draco had known he would sign; hadn't Goldstein and his equally prissy girlfriend, Granger, been trying to push their own version through for the last Merlin-only-knew how many years? They had been at it without any success at all, practically since the war ended. Still, the man was entirely stodgy and not-at-all enjoyable company: the perfect complement to Granger's priggish image.

It had been surprising, therefore, when he had encountered Goldstein in the reading room at the August Wizard's Club, to find him bitterly drinking bourbon and already half-way pissed. Goldstein didn't get drunk in public, it was just unfathomable. Then, when Draco had assiduously tried to get the man to step out of the conversation-barred room to discuss signing his support to the law, Goldstein had sneered. _Sneered_, as if he hadn't been working for the same thing his entire career! If that were not flummoxing enough, he had then followed the sneer with the most incomprehensible phrase Draco had ever heard uttered, perhaps ever.

"What, she fucks Malfoy Senior, and suddenly the Malfoys are on the bandwagon? Should've whored herself out years ago, fucking bitch."

Draco had blinked, actually stunned into silence at this pronouncement, and had offered an embarrassed, apologetic smile to the other two gentlemen currently making use of the reading room. He gestured for Goldstein to leave, which was ignored, before cautiously responding, his voice low. "To whom do you refer, Goldstein?"

The man had laughed caustically, inciting more furious looks from the room's occupants, and had taken another healthy swallow of his bourbon. "As if you didn't know. The whole bloody world has seen them together, waltzing down the street, going to the theatre, snogging in the bookshop. Woman was practically _frigid_ for five years, then just ends things, like I haven't put up with her, invested my time and money and image into her and her stupid endeavors."

"Oi! You're not supposed to talk in here. If you have to carry on, would you please remove yourselves to one of the other rooms?" Michael Corner gave them a frustrated look, which Goldstein ignored, his voice raising.

"Less than a week later she's shagging Lucius Malfoy, like you bloody lot never tortured her, and suddenly you're skipping around with the same damned petition that she's had me working my ass off on for five years? _Fuck_ you, Malfoy."

Corner set down his _Daily Prophet _with a smack, and exited the room, muttering about there being no peace _anywhere_ anymore. The other gentleman, whose name Draco wasn't sure of, had given up all pretence of trying to read and upset, and was instead listening interestedly.

"Are you talking about _Granger?" _Draco was honestly stunned. It would be comical if it wasn't so entirely ludicrous. Clearly Goldstein was more pissed than Draco had realised. "That's ridiculous. I've been working on this law for nearly eight months, and I've been more or less living under a rock at the firm the last two weeks. Are you honestly trying to tell me that _Granger_—your prudish, swotty girlfriend _Granger_—is shagging my_ father?"_

Goldstein had given him a derisive look. "Wake up and smell the roses, Malfoy." The other man was nodding as well, as if it were, in fact, common knowledge. Had the world gone and re-arranged itself while he had been trapped in his office the last week? Surely they must be having him on or something.

All Draco had been able to do at that point was shake his head wordlessly and depart, stopping briefly by the porter to inform him of Goldstein's condition. No doubt he would be asked quietly to leave the establishment and sleep it off. To his chagrin, the porter gave him a direct look and responded quietly, "I was just heading there. He will be spoken to, sir, and might I also remind you that the reading room is a strictly conversation-free area—please adhere to the standards and rules on your next visit." Bloody Corner. Draco had murmured his assent and apology, and left.

It really had been the strangest day. There was no way he could believe that Granger was actually shagging his father. She was more intelligent and principled then that. Surely she knew that even if he wasn't politically or socially active much any longer, he did still hold to traditional pure-blood supremacy values? He still donated to the Traditionalist Wizarding Party, and had voted against every law she had tried to pass, for Merlin's sake.

Draco poured himself a glass of water, not wanting to wake up one of the elves for a task so simple, especially if it meant sharing its company. The kitchen was dark and peaceful and lovely, and he was more than capable of getting a glass of water.

He had only been there for a few moments when the door hesitantly opened to reveal a half-naked feminine figure. Draco felt his brows lift appreciatively. Apparently his father _had _taken a paramour, and he could appreciate why. Her legs seemed endlessly long, and the oversized dress shirt she had on teased the lower edge of her bum, her curves just out of sight. Appreciatively, he watched as she hesitated, enjoying the way her clearly naked breasts moved under the shirt, and her messy just-fucked tangle of curls completed the look.

She stepped into a shaft of moonlight coming through one of the windows, and Draco felt his jaw drop. _Granger. _It was fucking _Granger,_ in his kitchen, apparently naked but for his father's shirt. Goldstein hadn't been completely pissed off his arse. Well, Draco amended, he had been, but he'd also been right.

What in the _hell_ was Granger doing shattering her respectable reputation and shagging his father? Had she just completely given up on everything she had stood for her entire life? Incredulously he watched as she appeared to pick a door at random and head for the vegetable garden.

"Are you really planning on visiting the vegetable garden in nothing but my father's shirt, Granger?" He couldn't stop himself from asking, and then he winced, mentally. It had come out sounding ruder than he had intended.

She whirled at him, gaping, giving him a brief but lovely view of her arse as the shirt shifted, and then blushed, turning visibly red even in the darkness. "I-I was hoping it might be the pantry. I was looking for the milk."

Bemused, Draco mutely pointed at the correct door, still trying to process that _Granger _was half naked and shagged-out by way of his _father,_ and requesting milk in his kitchen.

"Thanks," she said, still looking horribly embarrassed. He watched as she disappeared for a moment into the pantry, and reappeared with the milk. The chilled room had hardened her nipples, and they now stood out in sharp relief under the shirt she wore; despite himself, Draco felt the tell-tale signs of arousal.

"I hadn't thought it would be you," he said finally. "I always knew that at some point he'd get back on the horse and take a lover, but I _never _thought you. He'll not marry you, you know," he felt compelled to add. He knew that for certain; his father might be willing to sleep with the Muggle-born, if for no other reason than the notoriety of knocking her off her perfect pedestal, but he would _never _marry her.

Granger's chin lifted and she glared at him. "Not that it's really your business, Malfoy, but I'm not looking for marriage any more than he is. We are simply…enjoying each other right now."

Draco felt himself snort with laughter, and tried to hide his inner hysteria behind another sip of his water. Thankfully he didn't choke on it, and was able to keep his countenance clear. He watched her bristle with indignation.

"What? You think I'm not good enough to take your precious pure-blood father as a lover?"

Oh, now that was too rich. Draco set his glass down with a clink and bitingly informed her, "On the contrary, Granger, you had just about convinced me that you were worth _more_ than this." He wasn't sure what compelled him to keep going; something about Hermione Granger always seemed to bring out the absolute worst in him. Before he could stop himself, he had pasted a thoughtful expression on his face and added, "I guess it's for the best, really. You probably don't want to be on a pedestal as the Muggle-born proving pure-blood supremacy wrong, any more than I wanted to be on one allegedly proving them right."

Right, then. It was time for him to leave before he managed to turn this into a childish row like in their school days. The world, especially her, had gone crazy this week while he was out, and he wouldn't put it past her to throw a punch at him again, adults or not.

"So I'm worth less then, because I enjoy sex without marriage? You're splashed all over the front page of the tabloids with a different witch each week, you hypocrite."

Furious, Draco froze. Was she really that stupid? He had remembered her being such a swot, too. And for her information, the fucking tabloids were just that, they hardly ever got _anything _right. "No, Granger. You're worth less for _selling out your beliefs_," he ground out at her. "Don't presume that you know me because we went to school together once upon a time, and _don't_ call me a hypocrite. I've never once pretended to be anything other than what I am, even when we were children."

Well, there went his temper. He might as well throw the childish towel in as well and get his last dig in. After all, he had accomplished what she hadn't been able to in five years. "Oh, and by the way? Even though I _didn't_ do it for you, _you're bloody fucking welcome!_"

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A/N: Thank you so much for being so patient for this story to update! I really appreciate it! Please tell me what you think!


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